


What's Mine Is Mine (And What's Yours Is Also Mine)

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Set before Season 4, i can't write porn beware, otherwise known as another "holy shit i love my brother" fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Sam and Dean’s relationship, there wasn’t a definite line between “mine” and “yours”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Mine Is Mine (And What's Yours Is Also Mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mavisG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mavisG/gifts).



> This was originally supposed to be the first fic I posted on here but shit happened. Dedicated to fantamae because listening to her Wincest podfics late at night is what inspired this. Seriously, yo, you're awesome. :)

In Sam and Dean’s relationship, there wasn’t a definite line between “mine” and “yours”.  Odds were, unless it was something like a toothbrush (because, _ew-_ they had _some_ boundaries) it’d been municipal territory at least once; Dean occasionally used Sam’s shampoo because he thought it made his hair softer, Sam would borrow Dean’s socks because he was under the impression that they were warmer than his own, and there was this one green-ish plaid shirt that used to belong to their dad that they had both worn at least once or twice. They were always together (unless it was _that_ time of month again and one of them was in Hell or something after bravely but stupidly sacrificing himself for the other, in which case they weren’t, but never for very long) and things got jostled in their usually hasty departures, so why even bother with labels? It wasn’t as if either of them minded.

Or, at least _Dean_ didn’t mind, and he assumed Sam didn’t either. He’d never _said_ anything about it, so, Dean guessed he was okay with it. But, apparently, Sam had drawn a line somewhere at some point and Dean hadn’t been made aware of this… until, that is, he inevitably crossed it.

* * *

 

It was the dead of winter, and they were in the mountains of North Carolina hunting an honest to god _mountain troll,_ a case they’d only taken because they were already in-state taking care of a haunting that had ended with their dealing with the disgruntled spirit of none other than Blackbeard. Bobby had called them to tell them about the troll, and they’d said “what the hell” and accepted, booking at log cabin close to the attack sites which the owner had been _far_ too eager to rent out to them. _That_ should have been the first clue.

But, oblivious by nature, Dean hadn’t picked up on anything, almost completely at peace until they’d made the discovery that- surprise! - the cabin had no heating. It was well below freezing, and all that they had to keep warm was a fireplace. Dean was chilled almost immediately, but Sam (the bitch) actually had the tenacity to go out for a fucking _jog_. Dean spent the time that took him to start a fire, put on almost every article of clothing he (read: they) owned, push all Sam’s shit off of one of the beds. pile all the blankets onto it, wrap himself up in them and burrow down, falling asleep almost instantly. He didn’t wake up until much later, when Sam came back. The younger Winchester took one look at his brother before looking away, pausing, and then doing a full-on double take.

“Dean,” he said, blinking. “Why are you in my bed?”

“ ‘Cause it’s closer to the fire.” Dean yawned. Sam shot him a look.

“Well, could you get _out_ of it? I’m going to want to sleep there, you know.”

“But, _Sa-mmy!”_ Dean whined. “I’ll get _cold;_ I’ve just gotten all _warm_ and comfortable. Can’t we just share a bed?”

Sam’s expression went from a one to a ten on the Bitchface-O-Meter in two seconds flat- a new record. “I am _not_ sharing a bed with you. There is no way in _hell_ that is happening- out.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean met Sam’s fury with some of his own. “We share everything else- dude, you’re wearing my socks _right now.”_

Sam faltered. “That… that’s different.”

Now, it was Dean’s turn to make a face. “ _How?_ Besides, it isn’t as if we haven’t done it before.”

“Yeah, when I was a _kid!”_ Sam interjected. “The last time, I was _elven;_ I didn’t know any better. Now… it’d be all… all _weird.”_

Dean wasn’t buying it, and his expression clearly read: “stop being an idiot.” “I’m just asking you to share a bed with me,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to fuck me for warmth, Sam.  I’m your brother; how would it be _weird?”_

A barely perceptible shiver ran up Sam’s spine, and he bit his lower lip. “I-I… because…”  He sighed, lowering his gaze in an admission of defeat. “Fine.”

Dean smirked. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” Sam snapped, turning on his heels. “I’m going to take a shower.” He slammed the door behind him, and Dean settled back into his nest of blankets, triumphant.

* * *

 

Dean was warm, happy, and sleeping soundly until Sam began to moan and thrash in his sleep. The movement awoke Dean, his eyes shooting open and searching the darkness habitually for signs of danger. When he realized it had been Sam that had awoken him, he glared at his fitfully sleeping brother. “Bitch.” he muttered, turning back over.

“ _Dean,”_ Sam murmured, and Dean turned around again. Sam was writing around on the bed, on his back, arms splayed out and an obvious... _Holyshit…_ an obvious erection tented the sheets. Sam was having a sex dream- about _him._

Dean breathed in shakily. This _couldn’t_ be happening. He’d  repressed these feeling a long time ago; he wasn’t going to lose control not now. This _absolutely was not happening._

Except, it was. Oh, God, it _was!_ “S-sammy?” he croaked, reaching a hand out and hovering near Sam’s cheek, before dropping it back to his side.

 _“Dean,”_ Dean shut his eyes and gripped the sheets. _Calm down_ he ordered himself.

“Sam, wake up.” he said, but Sam just thrashed a bit more. “ _Sam,_ wake the hell up.” Sam didn’t. Dean sighed.

 _I’ll just ignore it,_ Dean thought. _And, it’ll be over in the morning._ He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and didn’t open them until morning, though he got no sleep that night.

* * *

 

Sam was a fucking bitch. When he woke up, he acted as if nothing had happened, even _smiling_ at Dean and giving him a cheerily yawned: “G’morning.”

Dean glared at him. “ _Right,”_ he spat. “First shower; calling it.”

Sam shrugged, flopping back onto the pillows, smiling still. “M’kay;  I’ll fix breakfast, then.”

Dean slammed the door, mental mantra of ‘ _It’s not going to happen; it never happened’_ starting up as he soaped up and tried to push all visions of a writing and moaning Sam from his mind. It failed miserably, and he had the most embarrassingly short shower wank in history. Oh, yeah, the whole “pretend it never happened” thing was going brilliantly.

He made sure to use his own shampoo that day.

* * *

 

The fucking troll was dead- and, good riddance to it. The monster had almost _dented Baby!_ Luckily, it’d missed, but that didn’t stop Dean from fretting over the car like it was a wounded animal or a child. While he did so, Sam glowered at him, tending to his own wounds. He had been body-checked into a tree, and had several bad cuts and bruises, as did Dean, but in less quantity. “You know,” Sam said, scrubbing at a cut on his arm with some disinfectant. “I wouldn’t mind some help.”

Dean looked up at him. Sam had shed his shirt, which had become ripper and bloody (as most of their clothes did, eventually) and was shivering as he treated his wounds. Dean shook his head, pushing all non-platonic thoughts away and replied: “Can’t you do it yourself? You’ve done it before.”

Sam shook his head. “There’s one on my back; can’t reach it.”

Dean sighed and shut the Impala’s hood. “Go inside,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Sam smiled. “Okay.” He walked back into the cabin, and Dean took a shaky breath.

“Get ahold of yourself Winchester.” he muttered. “It’s just Sam. Calm down; you’ve handled it before, don’t give in now.”

Sam poked his head outside, brow furrowed. “You okay?” Dean nodded hastily.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Go inside; I’m coming.”

Sam didn’t seem to buy it, but he didn’t say anything. They both went inside, Sam sitting down on the edge of the bed and Dean sitting behind him. The “cut” in question was long and jagged, made by the troll’s sharpened club. Dean ran a hand over it, making Sam wince and hiss in pain. “Jesus, Sammy.” He shook his head, and began dabbing at it with the rag.

He tried to be as gentle as possible, but Sam still squirmed. He put his other hand on the small of his back in an attempt to stop him from moving too much. “Hold still for fuck’s sake.” he said lowly in Sam’s ear, half a growl. Sam froze, breath stuttering, and Dean couldn’t help but smirk. He finished up and went to dress the wound the rest of the way. Sam didn't move an inch as he did so.

* * *

 

They shared a bed again that night, Dean being sure to put as much room between him and Sam as possible and face in the opposite direction. Sam, however, didn’t seem to get the point and snuggled right up to Dean, throwing an arm around his waist and a leg over Dean’s.  “ _Dude_ ,” Dean muttered, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. “Get off.”

“Shut up.” Sam said. “I’m _freezing_ and this was your idea.”

“Sam, you are _not_ spooning me.” Dean said through gritted teeth. Sam just squeezed him tighter.

“Would you rather I freeze to death?”                                                         

Dean was silent and he stopped squirming. “Whatever.” he grumbled. He clenched his eyes shut, resolutely trying to ignore the warmth at his back, and the growing one elsewhere.

* * *

 

Aside from the Impala’s rumble and the whooshing of the passing world, the drive down the mountain was silent. Neither Dean nor Sam met the other’s gaze, the former staring at the road, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and the latter staring dazedly out the window. Neither of them wanted to talk about that morning when they woke up even more tangled together, both painfully turned on, and had scrambled apart like they were on fire upon realizing it, Dean bumping his head on the wall and Sam flailing and falling onto the floor. It would have been funny were it not for the circumstances.

One shared glance, and the silent agreement was made that that this was definitely a Thing We Do Not Speak Of Ever.

 But, the truth of the matter was that they were going to have to talk about it sooner or later, whether they wanted to or not. They couldn’t not talk to each other again; that had been stupid and horrible, and Dean wasn’t sure he could stand a repeat performance of The Great Stanford Silence.

They were in Virginia, four long hours later, before Sam spoke. “So,” he said, more breathing the word than pronouncing it. “I’m kind of in love with you.”

Dean nearly ran off the road.  A few car honked, and Dean pulled off of the highway and onto a grassy shoulder. “Do _not_ ,” he hissed. “Just _throw_ that at me while I’m driving, Sam; I nearly had a heart attack.”

Sam glared at him. “Well, I needed to ,” he snapped. “It’s been eating at me long enough, Dean, and I just couldn’t anymore—I’m _in love_ with you.” He repeated the words, as if Dean needed him to; like they weren’t ringing in his ears like a gunshot already.

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair, before looking at Sam. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know, but, Sammy, you can’t; there are so many reasons you just _can’t_.”

“I don’t care.” Sam said simply. “I’m already going to hell, so it doesn’t really matter: I love you, and that’s it. End of discussion.”

“Stop saying that!” Dean cried.

 “No.”  Sam crossed his arms like a child that had just been told it was his bed time. “I do.”

“I’m your _brother_!” Dean argued.

“I don’t care!” Sam shot back.

“You should.” Dean said. “Sam, even if that weren’t the case, you deserve better—someone you can settle down with, have a white-picket fence house with your two and a half kids; a normal life, with someone who’s gonna be around to take care of you for the rest of it. I can’t do that, you know I can’t do that, and I know that’s what you want. I –” He sighed. “I love you, too; I’m _in love with you_ , which is why I can’t let this happen.”

“I _deserve better_?” Sam looked like he was choking on the words. “Dean, this is not the time for your self-depreciating shit! I don’t want normal if that means I can’t have you.”

“I’m going to die one day, Sam.” Dean went on, ignoring him. “I’m not going to live a long life, and you and I both now that if one of us is going to bite it first, it’s going to be me. If we do this, it’s going to hurt more, and you won’t move on; you’ll end up like dad – holding grudges and hunting until _you_ get killed.”

“I know, and _I don’t care_.” Sam said. “I’ve accepted that, Dean. I’m not saying I’m completely _prepared_ for it, but I know that it’s… a possibility. But, I can’t just live my life holding back because of it. When it comes to this—comes to _you_ , I’ll take whatever I can get. You want this, too, you said it yourself, so l _et me_!” The younger Winchester’s voice was thick with tears he refused to let fall. “Please, Dean.”

All at once, Dean felt his resolve crumbling; all the years of fighting and holding back caving in and falling away. “Sammy,” he croaked, reaching out to do something, he wasn’t quite sure what, to comfort him.

“Say yes.” Sam said, half pleading and half demanding, staring him dead in the eye.

“ _Sam_.”

“Say yes.” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

“ _Yes_.” Dean said, and that was all Sam needed—all he seemed to have ever wanted – to hear.

On the side of an anonymous country road in Virginia, Sam kissed Dean for the first—but most certainly not the last—time.

* * *

They could barely keep their hands off of one another long enough to get into their motel room, Dean kicking the door shut as he launched himself at Sam, their mouths crashing together and Sam responding in kind immediately, kissing back and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. The kissing was rough and needy, both of them trying to make up for lost time, acting as if this was the last moment they’d have together; and, who knew, it may as well be.

They stumbled back onto the bed, Dean falling on top of Sam and straddling his waist. “You have—“ He kissed a trail down Sam’s neck. “—No idea – ” He pawed at Sam’s shirt, and Sam sat up to help him remove it. “—How long—” Sam’s hips bucked as Dean’s hands ghosted lower, and he made a keening noise in the back of his throat. “—I’ve been wanting to do this.”

“Me—” Sam pushed Dean away long enough to rid him of his shirt the same way Dean had for him. “—Too, oh, _fuck_ , _Dean_.” He said it just as he had when he was dreaming the night that had thrown this all into motion. Dean’s hands were pinning his hips down, and he was looking down at him with the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“Want something, Sammy?” he asked, feigning innocence, and Sam glared at him (though, it was ineffective due to the fact that he was still panting and bucking under Dean.

“Don’t be a fucking _tease_ ,” he whined. “ _Do_ something for god’s sake!”

“Pushy,” Dean chuckled. “Maybe I should just sit here for a bit, and—”

“I _swear_ , Dean, if you don’t do _something_ right now, I will _kill_ you.” Sam growled.

“Nah, I think I’ll just—”

“Kill you slowly until you’re dead of it, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flicked at Sam’s zipper idly. Sam gasped and his smirk widened a  bit, an idea coming to him. He off of Sam, much to the other’s discontent, using one hand to hold Sam in place and using the other to pull Sam’s jeans and boxers down and off, Sam arching up and off of the bed and kicking them into the floor while Dean brought his head back down to stare at Sam’s swelling cock. He found himself… more than a little intimidated. “The _hell_ did we feed you, Sammy?” he mumbled.

 Sam blushed. “Shut up.” he said. “It’s proportional!”

“ _Right,”_ Dean looked up at him briefly before  taking a  deep breath and looking back down. He _seriously_ shouldn’t have to think about this; he’d done it before, with other guys, but this was _Sam_ , and he wanted to do it right.

Sam kicked him. “Do something, Dean.” he said. “Remember the killing? Still an option!”

“Dammit, give me a second!” Dean huffed. Sam made a face.

“Dude, you had _years_.” he snorted.

“Not the same thing, bitch.” Dean muttered, but went for it anyway.

He removed one of his hands from Sam’s hips and wrapped it around his cock, stroking the shaft and twisting experimentally on the upstroke. He was rewarded with a deep moan from Sam, and he repeated the action a few times before taking a deep breath and wrapping his lips around the head. Sam bucked forward almost immediately, and Dean had to brace his hand against Sam’s hip again to keep from choking.

Tentatively, he moved his mouth down, taking more and running his tongue along the underside. He let Sam fuck into him a little and he didn’t mind the roughness of it, nor the hand that was twined into his hair, tugging. Sam moaned, and he realized the he actually _loved_ it— having Sam under him, in him, _near_ him. He moved his mouth up and back down, hollow out his cheeks for suction. Sam was moaning and babbling; a string of curses and broke phrases, barely coherent. “So… fuck… gonna… _Dean_!” Sam was shuddering and Dean knew what he was trying to say, humming around him encouragingly, driving him over the edge. Sam came, shaking and cursing and Dean just stayed and swallowed down the bitterness that came with it (no pun intended), because it was a little too late to pull away now. When he finished, Dean pulled off with a sickening pop that was in no way sexy. “Ew,” Sam said, but it didn’t sound very forceful. His eyes were already falling shut, and Dean decided that he could be taken care of later.

“Shut up,” he said, kissing his forehead and laying down beside him. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

* * *

 

The line between mine and yours between the two had been effectively redrawn and erased entirely in a matter of days; they spent every free moment (as rare as they were) relearning each other. They shared everything now; beds, clothes, food (but still no tooth brushes), and neither of them minded in the least. They belonged to each other, so, why shouldn’t everything else?

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's a female virgin who has neither given nor received a blow job? This girl.


End file.
